Wine for Why I Can't See the Movie Contagion, Part One

I am, admittedly, a bit of a clean freak. Especially when it comes to bathrooms and kitchens. I have gotten a bit of a reputation at work, where I am constantly wiping down liquer bottles and spraying Windex on the bar.

One of my co-workers has told me that I can't see the movie Contagion because I will wind up walking around in a plastic bubble, or refusing to leave my house.

At the very least, I told him, I'm going to start spraying everyone who approaches me with Lysol.

I wasn't always so clean. In high school, I went through a dirty phase where my room was a mini-dump. It wasn't full of dirty food-plates or bugs or anything, but rather piled ankle-deep with clothes and magazines.

When friends came over, rather than actually clean up, I simply threw my bedspread over the offending pile, and hoped no one would notice.

Unfortunately, what actually happened was that one of my friends came running into my room, and the moment her foot hit that bedspread, which covered a slippery pile of magazines and catalogues, she went flying. It was like she was on a slip and slide, only instead of sliding on a film of water, she instead went sailing on a sea of Seventeen Magazines and J-Crew catalogues.

I would like to say that that moment caused me enough embarrassment to force me to finally clean up my room, but I'm not sure it did. My mother would probably remember.

All I know is that my parents actually had to fumigate my room when I left for college. It was that bad.

When I moved to Los Angeles, my apartment was kept clean, but my car became the repository for all things paper and discarded. Again, there were no dirty food or drink containers, but the back seat filled almost to the window with newspapers, magazines, school notes and papers I no longer needed, empty shopping bags and who knows what else.

A guy I was dating got in my car for the first time, looked in the backseat, and said "You know, if I'd seen that first, I'm not sure I ever would have gone out with you."

The exterior of the car didn't fare much better. From the time I left Boston with my friend Maria, and drove the car cross-country, to the time I sold it 4 years later, I didn't wash it. Not once.

I lived in a neighborhood with abundant street parking, and so that car sat outside, all year, under trees, covered in bird poop and pollen.

Only when I was about to sell it did I finally wash it, and my sister and i took it to a carwash and watched as it went through the jets of soap and water, and watched as the guys who buff and dry the cars actually worked on it and laughed. Actually laughed at how dirty it was, even after the washing.

The paint had gone from a bright, shiny maroon, to a dull version of the same color. It had certainly lost its luster. But that car had bigger problems: it would only go about 45 mph on the freeway before the engine light would come on (25 mph if I was driving uphill); the windshield wipers went on one day and wouldn't go off; and the passenger side window rolled down and then steadfastly refused to roll back up. So honestly, i didn't feel too bad that I had neglected to wash it.

I fear this post is getting too long, so I will leave off here for today and continue next week with part two: the clean streak begins.

My wine for why I can't see the movie Contagion, Part I is a 2005 Domaine Drouhin "Laurene" Pinot Noir from Oregon. We carry this particular wine by the half-bottle at the restaurant, but if you can't find this vintage, i highly recommend you try any of their Pinots.

The Drouhin family lives and makes wine both in the Dundee Hills of Oregon and Beaune, France, in Burgundy. Their Oregon Pinots balance beautifully the fruitiness of Oregon with the earth and slightly more reserved character of a Burgundy. The 2005 is quite rich, but still bright with acidity, fruit and spice.

Personally, I also really like that all of the Drouhin wines are made by Veronique Drouhin, one of the small number of female winemakers out there.

They have a wonderful website for Domaine Drouhin Oregon, where you can get info about the family, the estate vines and the wines themselves. I highly encourage you to try one.

Just remember to wash your hands first.

Wine for Our Puppy-Child

The longer that we have Tuco, the more it seems to me that the experience of having a dog from the time he's a young puppy really is very similar to that of raising a child.

Not just in the amount of time and energy they require, but also in the way in which both force us as adults to re-experience the world with them, go through a whole variety of firsts and milestones with them: first car-ride, first bath, first night alone in his crate, first trip to the doctor/vet, first shots, first day of kindergarten, first time away from Mom and Dad.

All the experiences we take for granted and no longer even think about, suddenly illuminated as new, confusing, exciting.

We gave Tuco a baby carrot to eat the other day, and he had no idea what to make of it. He ran around it, he sniffed at it, he picked it up in his mouth and dropped it. Steve finally went over to him with a baby carrot of his own, and showed Tuco that what he did with it was to bite it in half. Tuco immediately did the same. And there is was...yum...carrot...a whole new thing to eat.

We also have begun taking him to the beach. So many new smells and sensations that I no longer notice half the time. To me now, the beach is a whole entity, one solid concept. But watching him at the beach, I suddenly saw again all of the parts that make up the whole: the sand, and how different that feels to stand on than sidewalk or grass; the bits of shell that litter the sand, along with all of the different pebbles, all of those will smell different to Tuco; the bits of seaweed everywhere; the smell, sound and feel of the water itself.

Then there was the surprise on his face when the cold water rushed over his paws; the foam on the surface of the water which he tried to eat, the feeling of the sand sliding away underfoot as he waded deeper into the water; that sense of excitement and fear at the force of a wave; and the accomplishment of pulling a ball out of the water and bringing it back.

Just like kids, puppies lose their teeth, and go through adolescence. Tuco is just entering this stage of his development, and already we see moments of willfulness (why should I sit, Mom?), and bossiness (I want my food! I want to go out and play! I want to walk here, I don't want to walk there. Sine i don't want to walk there, I will lie down in the middle of the sidewalk. Go ahead...drag me.).

Just like with kids, we as parents have to introduce them to the world: how we walk down the street, how we meet other people and dogs, where we poop and pee and where we don't; how we behave when someone enters our home.

Just like parents of actual children, Steve and I are watching as Tuco's natural talents and abilities come to the fore. He is part Border Collie, a herding dog, and in the last few weeks, that herding instinct has made itself known to all of us.

He doesn't even know why he's doing it, but when we're in the dog park together, and another dog runs by, or can be seen running in the distance, Tuco takes off after him, swinging in a wide arc, always staying a certain distance behind, steering the other dog one way and another.

And can he run. He flies. He's only 7 months, and already he is faster than just about every other dog in the park. And it is an absolute joy to watch him run. Because you can see that he was made to do it, you can see that when he is running he is exhilarated, and free, and when Steve and I watch him, I think we then feel some of those things, too.

Finally, there are those lovely, quiet together moments. Tuco hangs out in the kitchen with me while I cook. And it's not that he's hovering by me, waiting for scraps, because he never gets any.

He just lies on his mat quietly, sometimes watching me, sometimes sleeping. He just wants to keep me company. And it reminds me of when I lived at home, I liked nothing more than sitting with my mother in the kitchen while she made dinner; sometimes I was helping, sometimes just telling her about my day.

Granted, Tuco is not chatting with me about his day, but it is that same experience of togetherness, of sharing, that makes me think of my mother, and makes me feel oddly comforted.

I don't mean to suggest that having a dog is exactly like having a baby, but it strikes me that there are a lot of similarities, more than I ever imagined, and i must say I am delighted by it.

My wine for our puppy-child is not an individual wine but rather a category: Cremant d'Alsace from Alsace, in northeastern France.

These are sparkling wines often made predominantly from the Pinot Blanc grape, and they offer an absolutely delicious and less expensive alternative to Champagne. While they may not have the finesse and richness of Champagne, they are bright, crisp and refreshing, as well as easy to drink and extremely food friendly.

Try a Lucien Albrecht Cremant d'Alsace Brut or Rose Brut. Price ranges from $13-$28 a bottle.

Wine for Doggie Doo

Dealing with any baby naturally entails a lot of encounters with matter of the fecal variety. Babies poop. A lot, I've heard.

So it is with puppies. It is not so much the number of poops our beloved Tuco does per day as it is the quantity of matter per poop. We are literally talking piles of poop. For a rather small 30-pound dog, he must generate his own body weight in poop every day.

And these are not what I would consider small-dog bowel movements; one such poop looked like it should have emerged from a 1200 pound walrus. Passers-by looked at us as if to say, "wow, that's one big turd!"

The euphamism "building a log cabin", is not just a catchy phrase. He seriously could be living in a poop-house of his own making by now.

Then there is the whole business of his being afraid of his own poop. I think we have finally cracked this mystery: sticks and mulch. In his poop.

We cannot seem, no matter how hard we try, to make him not eat every stick and piece of mulch he can find. This wouldn't be such a problem if not for the fact that these items don't digest in his tummy. They do, in fact, pass right through. Literally, you can see them right there in his poops, whole hunks of sticks and mulch.

Those bits must hurt like hell coming out, so I can hardly blame him for trying to get as far away from them as he can.

While dealing with doggie poop is not always fun, dealing with baby poop is not much better. People will comment that the advantage babies have over dogs is that they eventually deal with their own poop, while dogs pretty much leave their owners grabbing handfuls of the stuff many times a day for the next 15-18 years. And this is unfortunately true.

However, I must say that by far the most terrifying poop encounter I have ever had was with an infant for whom I was babysitting.

I was in my early twenties, and the baby was only a few days old, and his mom and I were there with him, at his changing table.

The diaper was off, so he was bare butt to the breeze, when suddenly, there was a poop explosion. Really there's no other way to describe it. Poop just projectile erupted from his bum, and sprayed everything in a ten-foot radius. His mother and I both shrieked in shock and jumped back to what we imagined was a safe distance.

The baby bicycled his legs, cooed and looked delighted.

His mother and I stood, frozen, looking at him, and then at each other in muted horror. Then slowly, very slowly, we inched back closer to him.

It was like we were both members of a bomb squad, approaching an explosive device: had the bomb fully discharged its load? Was there going to be a secondary explosion? What about shrapnel? Could we approach now? What could be considered a safe distance? I for one, wanted to put my flack suit back on, or at the very least, a Haz Mat suit.

I distinctly remember thinking, $10/an hour is not enough for this.

I almost hesitate to recommend a wine this week, lest it be known at the dog-doo wine, but recommend I shall.

The wine for this week is a 2006 Kumeu River Estate Chardonnay from New Zealand.

Now i confess, I am not normally a fan of New World Chardonnays. That buttery, oaky thing is just not for me.

But this Chard is different: it's ripe and tropical with peachy, nutty minerality. It's super refreshing and bright and kind of reminds me of a rich Sauvignon Blanc. It's really nice with seafood.

So throw away that poop bag, pour yourself a glass of Kumeu River and enjoy!

Wine for Being Afraid

One of the reasons Steve and I wanted a dog was for the relaxing, healthy benefits of pet ownership.

Especially for me, who has been known to wrestle with anxiety, the idea of stroking a pet in a quiet, soothing manner, was in itself comforting. To have a gentle, peaceful relaxing creature by your side every day, to calm me by its mere presence, held a great deal of appeal.

And so it is with great irony that I now share that we somehow chose a puppy who seems to suffer from....you guessed it....anxiety.

How we did this, I'm not sure, he didn't seem anxious when we chose him, but there you have it.

Now I am the first person to fully understand anxiety, but I have to admit that some of the things that frighten Tuco are really beyond me.

For starters, the first few weeks we had him, he was afraid of other dogs. I found this odd considering he came from a litter of six pups, and was, himself, after all, a dog. But apparently this is common, and now he plays with the best of them, but i will never get out of my mind the vision of him running away from a tiny three-month-old pug who came to say hello to him in our puppy class.

Some other things he is afraid of:

Garbage barrels. This again is not uncommon, considering they make a lot of noise when rolled out onto the sidewalk.

His new treat dispenser: it is a red, honeycomb-shaped device which wobbles if you hit it with a hand, snout or paw, and dispenses a treat out of a small hole in one side. It scares him. I don't know why.

His harness: Tuco is the only dog I have ever met who is not excited to go out. Really, not even a tail wag. When he sees us take out his harness, he runs away, tail between his legs, and we have to coax him out with treats.

This one really baffles me because we only ever take him fun places in that harness: the dog park, daycare, walks.

But wait, you may be thinking, you probably take him to the vet in that harness! Well, yes, we do, but here's the kicker: he LOVES the vet. Loves it there. We live around the corner from the vet, and often on our walks we go right by it, and we can't walk by it without Tuco going inside. He pulls me, strains against the leash, running to get in.

He has to go in, and once inside he is beside himself with delight. He gets low to the ground, he wags his tail so hard you think it will fall off, and he flops over and presents his belly to everyone who works there.

Even when he sees the vet himself, he is delighted. Remember, this vet is the man who just a few short weeks ago was jabbing Tuco with a vaccination needle and grabbing his man-parts.

He also has, inexplicably, become afraid of his own poop. Now on the one hand I can understand, sometimes I'm afraid of it, too. But you'd think since it's his, he wouldn't fear it. But he seems to. Midway through the poop's exit from the ole chute, Tuco will suddenly turn around and look at his rear end as if to say "what the hell is THAT?!" and start running away from it. Needless to say, this leads to some rather interesting poop-dispersal patterns in the yard.

I know I'm one to talk about being afraid of random things. Once when my parents left me alone at home for the evening, I spent the last hour before their return huddled in a corner, because I had seen someone walking in the backyard and was convinced he was going to break in. Only when my parents finally came home did I realize that the ax-murderer I had seen was in fact my own reflection in the glass porch door.

Like mother, like puppy.

My wine for Being Afraid is a 2007 Vezer Family Vineyard "Franci" Black Muscat. The Vezer winery is located in the Suisun Valley of California near Napa. Franci is the name of the Vezer's 10-year-old daughter.

This Black Muscat is a sweet dessert wine, with lovely floral notes of lilac and carnation as well as plump blackberry and blueberry. It has a bright, lively acidity which keeps is from being overly sweet, and it will pair beautifully with black and red fruit desserts, as well as sorbets and anything chocolate. It is also yummy enough to be a dessert in and of itself.

You can order it online from the Vezer Family Vineyard website for $24.95 (375ml).

Just don't bring it to my house unexpectedly: it might scare the dog.

Wine for Wine's Sake

Just for a refresher, I am currently the Asst. Sommelier and Bartender at a Michelin-Star restaurant, and every once in a while, I have a night at the restaurant that reminds me of how lucky I am to have this job, and why I love working with wine.

Periodically, a group of gentlemen rent out the private dining area of the restaurant for an evening of food and some extraordinary wine.

They each bring their own offerings, which we open, possibly decant and serve. My boss at the restaurant, who also happens to be the Master Sommelier there, is an excellent teacher, and he is always incredibly gracious in making sure I get to taste almost all of the wines that we open.

On this particular evening, the wines sampled included a 1990 Trimbach Clos St. Hune, a 1929 Chateau Bouscaut Blanc, a 1959 Chateau Ausone and 1982 Penfolds Grange.

But by far the most extraordinary offerings came at the end of the evening, with the sweet wines. First up was a 1906 Chateau D'Arche.

Let me write that vintage again: 1906. I almost can't get past the date. This wine is 105 years old.

In 1906, the San Francisco earthquake struck; Mount Vesuvius erupted; the Victrola, the first phonograph/record player was manufactured; the first officially recorded powered flight in Europe took place; SOS became an internationally recognized distress signal; the first radio broadcast occurred; the tuberculosis immunization was first developed; the first feature film was released; and gangster Bugsy Siegel, last emperor of China Pu-Yi, German war criminal Adolph Eichmann, writer Samuel Beckett, director Roberto Rossellini, entertainer Josephine Baker, screenwriter Billy Wilder, Estee Lauder, actress Louise Brooks, and director Otto Preminger were born.

This Chateau D'Arche, is a sweet dessert wine from the Sauternes appellation near Bordeaux, France. The wines are made from a blend of Sauvignon Blanc and Semillon grapes, all of which have been affected by my favorite Botrytis Cinerea, or "Noble Rot".

The combination of sugar, alcohol and higher acidity makes for wines that tend to age well, and let me tell you, this wine has aged gloriously.

Over time it has darkened from its usual golden straw hue, and the nose and flavors have developed to those of raisin, prune, caramel, creme brulee, rum, port, butterscotch and toasted nuts, with a lively and bright acidity. It was heaven in a glass.

The final wine was one with an even more extraordinary history: a 1931 Massandra Collection A-Danil Tokay.

The Massandra Winery and cellar was built near Yalta in the late 19th Century under Tsar Nicholas II, to provide wines for the Tsar's summer palace, and specializes in sweet and fortified dessert wines.

The cellars took three years to build, with miners blasting deep into a mountainside to create a labyrinth of 21 tunnels, with air shafts providing consistent cooling and spring water adding the perfect humidity.

The Massandra Collection consists of samples of wine from every Massandra vintage as well as other European collectibles.

So impressed was Stalin by this collection in later years, that when he heard of Hitler's impending arrival, he ordered the entire Massandra collection moved to secret locations in the Ukraine.

This 1931 Massandra Tokay has held up beautifully. Though it didn't have the lingering acidity of the Chateau D'Arche, th flavors were still rich and complex, with a sweet. meaty, lingering prune flavor alongside caramel, dulce de leche and butter pecan.

Tasting both of these wines was really an amazing, possibly once-in-a-lifetime experience, and overall, a pretty good day at the office.

Wine for the Thanklessness of Being a Mom

As I recently wrote in my Mother's Day post, moms are often under-appreciated.

I remember my mother one time talking ruefully about the occasional thanklessness of being a mother. She talked about how, with a baby, as a full-time mom, she did everything for

that baby. Ate, breathed and slept that baby; fed the baby, changed it, held it, stayed up all night with it, etc.

And how one day, after putting in all that effort, the baby opened its little mouth to say its first word and what came out was... "Dada"

I am beginning to understand what she was talking about.

I spend pretty much all day one on one with the puppy; I wake up and give him breakfast, I take him for a walk, play ball with him in the backyard, clean up after him, and then do it all over again for lunch. The first few days he was living with us, I slept on the airbed in the office and took him out to pee and poop every three hours.

Not to mention how much time I spend thinking about him, worrying about him, even when I'm not with him.

My point is, I spend a lot of time and energy on him, and yet, when it comes down to it, at the end of the day who who gets all the kisses, all the biggest tail wags, all the uncontainable joy?

Yup, you got it: Dada.

When Steve comes home from work, Tuco throws him a ticker tape parade. He jumps up, he whimpers, he wags his tail so hard he can't remain upright, and he licks every available part of Steve he can find.

This is not to say that Steve does not do a lot with the puppy, too, because he does. He takes the puppy out to pee in the morning before work, and when he gets home from work he doesn't even have a second to sit and relax before he is consumed by puppy madness.

But still, I feel that, as Mom, I often get the short end of the stick.

The first time we gave Tuco a bath, Steve and I put him in the kitchen sink and Steve held on to him while I shampooed him and rinsed him off. When we were finished, I got a towel, wrapped Tuco in it and held him in my arms while drying him off.

Such love I gave him, such cooed words of praise. But did he give me any kisses? Oh no...he ignored me. He would only kiss Steve, only take treats from Steve, only let Steve pat him.

Why, I wondered? What had I done? Steve and I both gave him the bath...in fact Steve was the one forcibly restraining him in the sink, but did he hold that against Steve? Of course not! Somehow, the whole bath trauma was all my fault!

He kept giving me such looks of hurt and betrayal, looks which so clearly said "How could you? I trusted you? I thought you loved me." It was just unfair.

It was even worse when we sent him to daycare the first time. He came home and wouldn't come near me, even going so far as to run away from me when I approached (this picture is, in fact, of him hiding from me under our coffee table), again giving me looks and, with his big brown eyes, silently calling me a doody-head.

Once again, Steve was exempt from the blame. Daycare was clearly all Mama's fault, all Mama's idea. I can only imagine how he's going to look at me when we get him neutered. Those looks, I can guarantee, will be priceless.

My wine for Mommy Thanklessness is a 2006 Schramsberg Brut Rose. This Napa Valley bubbly is a vintage rose, so is only produced in particularly good years. This Brut Rose is predominantly made from Pinot Noir grapes, with Chardonnay rounding out the flavors and adding apple and spice notes to the cherry and strawberry that tickle your nose and dominate the palate.

It's lovely as an aperatif, with a meal, or savored with fruit and cheese on a hot summer day.

Plus it's pink, so not only is it yummy, it's also pretty. Which makes me feel a little better when my puppy is blaming me for the fact that his tail won't chase him back.

Wine for the Puppy Menace

Let me start off by saying that I love our puppy. Really I do. After all, who could resist a puppy with such ridiculously big ears? But he is, a lot of the time now, an absolute frickin' nightmare.

He seems to be going through a phase where he has decided he is going to test us. A lot. And then eat. And then just go completely crazy for no apparent reason. And then poop (outside, thank God). And then sleep. And then go crazy again. And then eat my socks.

I think I can sum up how Steve and I are feeling during this phase by saying that at the moment we love him most when he is sleeping. And when he has just woken up. Then he is an absolute darling. He rolls over on his back for belly rubs, he licks our hands and gazes into our eyes lovingly...all the while planning his next path of destruction.

He has decided that when he is in the backyard, rather than playing with the ball or little plastic puppy pool, what he really finds most enjoyable is eating mulch, clumps of dirt, and rocks. Oh and grass of course, lots and lots of grass.

He then comes back into the house and makes various hacking and acking sounds, but clearly is oblivious to the fact that he could avoid these delightful moments by just skipping the dirt-rock-mulch-grass combo. When we try to explain this to him, however, he just looks at us like "what?" and then chews on his foot for a while.

He has also decided that I'm not allowed to talk on the phone, or, for that matter, to anyone but him, and when I do, he starts growling and pulling on his leash and jumping on me to get my attention.

Today, as I tried to talk to my sister on the phone, he grabbed a paper towel off the coffee table and then went tearing around the house with it while I tried to catch him and take it away. Let me tell you, that sucker is fast, and can wedge himself into spaces where he knows I can't grab him, and he was changing direction and scooting past me like lightning, leaving paper towel shreds in his wake.

When I finally put him in his crate and closed the door, he gazed at me with those innocent, soft brown eyes, sweet as can be, one last white paper-towel shred hanging from his tooth, wondering, I'm sure, why Mama was so red-faced and sweaty.

It's not all bad, of course. We had a delightful moment this morning when he was sitting on his mat in our living room. I was trying to get him to lie down, but he wouldn't. He just kept sitting there with a slightly odd look on his face.

All of a sudden, a fairly expressive toot emanated from his rear. He seemed quite surprised by the whole event, and turned around to stare straight at his bum-hole, as if to ask "Was that you?"

Indeed it was. And let me just say that before that toot my hair was curly. Now, not so much.

My wine for the puppy menace is a cocktail that I made up at the restaurant one night when two diners really wanted an apple martini, and then asked for me to make then something fruity and kind of sweet when told that we can't make apple martinis.

The descriptive name is a mandarin grapefruit cosmo, but in honor of this post I will now call it the Mandarin Menace.

Here is how you make it:

In a cocktail shaker combine:

3/4 ounce mandarin vodka

1/4 ounce grapefruit vodka

1/2 ounce cointreau

1/4 ounce Luxardo Maraschino cherry liqueur

1/2 ounce fresh lime juice

1/2 ounce cranberry or pomegranate juice

simple syrup to taste

add ice and stir. Strain into chilled martini glass.

Garnish with Maraschino cherry and a few drops of the red Maraschino juice.

It is fruity and refreshing, but watch out: it's got bite!